I find this menu planning to be the hardest part of this whole system. I'm somewhat...frenetically organized. I wanted to do the entire week's shopping and planning in one fell swoop this morning. It took me about an hour, but it felt like a thousand years. I had Excel fired up to do the planning, and then my menu planning software to plug in all the recipes to generate a shopping list. Yes, it would have been faster if I had simply written the list on the back of the envelope. But then I wouldn't have been able to whip myself up into a frenzied state of control. And that, my friends, is what I do. Procrastination by organization. See, it looks like I'm doing something (planning the menu), but I'm actually just perfecting the tools to plan the menu instead of planning the menu. It's all smoke and mirrors.
Finally, after much frustration, I got the planning done. All I can say is, man, that is a LOT of meat I'm supposed to be eating. Plus for my alleged body type E (Ironically, a thin person trapped inside a slowly thickening large person), I can have no pasta or bread. Let the whimpering begin.
The good news is that I found a wicked deal on an All-clad grill pan on Amazon. $50!! It came in yesterday, and so I was able to haul out the Charlie Trotter cookbook to imagine all the smart, whimsical, charming dinner parties I would be having. "Oh this? I just whipped this up. Do you know that not only is it simply delicious, it is completely healthy for you?" Throw back head, laugh, and pass the paired wine.
It could happen.
I didn't start the food diet today. I knew I would be completely grumpy trying to plan the menu, while eating the menu. It starts tomorrow. So today I had my own private Fat Saturday, before my own private Lent. I dallied with the butter. Chatted aimably with the coconut empanada. Canoodled with the ravioli. Stayed out past bedtime with the tiramisu.
Also my favorite pair of Gap Body pants that go with everything are tight, too. The pants that I wear when I feel puffy and unloved, and immediately make me feel better. Are.too.tight.
Tomorrow is not coming fast enough.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
Friday, September 10, 2004
The Return of the Resolve
I am puffy, puffy, puffy. Nothing is fitting any more. My clothes are shrinking before my very eyes. Today, my khaki pants threatened to cut my very life force from my waist by forcing me to take shallow, mincing breaths every time I tried to walk, sit, or bend. But, that, sadly, is not the final indignaty.
The FI happened on Wednesday morning, when my friend Corinne came over. We were talking about gyms, and work out programs, and I said, "oh, you know, I bought this workout program off tv. Look, I'll show you." I reach up to the Provida box perched on high at the top of the entertainment center, bring it down to open it, and start shrieking at the top of my lungs. "Ants! Ants!"
The whole box was filled with thousands of swarming ants. Nasty, nest building ants. I guess they were attracted to the glue or something in the cardboard? They were munching up the paper, and building a nice, nasty nest along the inside seam of the box. Oh, it was horrible. And worse yet, Corinne was all, "how long has that box been up there?" (In my mind, dark thoughts: long enough, obviously, you skinny—)
I dumped all the ants out on the carport, and then felt sorry for the whole munched interior of the Provida box, and emptied the rest of the contents onto the kitchen table. Whereupon I was forced to look at it during my meals.
So that, coupled with my puffiness, has led me back to the land of the infomercial resolve! Where I must always speak in exclamation points! Finally! So tomorrow, I promise, I am going to write out my menu, and try this diet for the week. I'm only going to comitt for a week at a time, as I think my resolve lasts about 7 days.
Also...after much, much deliberation, I think I'm gonna quit the gym. I'm paying them $38 a month for guilt? Heck, I can do that for free.
No, seriously. The new plan is that if I can get out the door in this next month, and walk around the block a couple of times, consistently, then I will reward myself with new jogging shoes. If I can do it for two months, I will be a pulse meter. I am motivated by new, shiny, techological toys.
And pants that fit.
The FI happened on Wednesday morning, when my friend Corinne came over. We were talking about gyms, and work out programs, and I said, "oh, you know, I bought this workout program off tv. Look, I'll show you." I reach up to the Provida box perched on high at the top of the entertainment center, bring it down to open it, and start shrieking at the top of my lungs. "Ants! Ants!"
The whole box was filled with thousands of swarming ants. Nasty, nest building ants. I guess they were attracted to the glue or something in the cardboard? They were munching up the paper, and building a nice, nasty nest along the inside seam of the box. Oh, it was horrible. And worse yet, Corinne was all, "how long has that box been up there?" (In my mind, dark thoughts: long enough, obviously, you skinny—)
I dumped all the ants out on the carport, and then felt sorry for the whole munched interior of the Provida box, and emptied the rest of the contents onto the kitchen table. Whereupon I was forced to look at it during my meals.
So that, coupled with my puffiness, has led me back to the land of the infomercial resolve! Where I must always speak in exclamation points! Finally! So tomorrow, I promise, I am going to write out my menu, and try this diet for the week. I'm only going to comitt for a week at a time, as I think my resolve lasts about 7 days.
Also...after much, much deliberation, I think I'm gonna quit the gym. I'm paying them $38 a month for guilt? Heck, I can do that for free.
No, seriously. The new plan is that if I can get out the door in this next month, and walk around the block a couple of times, consistently, then I will reward myself with new jogging shoes. If I can do it for two months, I will be a pulse meter. I am motivated by new, shiny, techological toys.
And pants that fit.
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